


"i made this for you."

by clickingkeyboards



Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [40]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Best Friends, Kid Fic, Making Friends, Primary School, frienship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: Daisy and Hazel in primary school.Modern AUWritten for the fortieth prompt in the '100 ways to say "I love you"' prompt list by p0ck3tf0x on Tumblr.
Relationships: Daisy Wells & Hazel Wong
Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533164
Kudos: 16





	"i made this for you."

I am not sure how I feel about the new girl.

You see, I am the queen of Deepdean Primary School. All the younger students follow me here and there and carry my bookbag for me, and run to and from to spread rumours about students who are unkind to my closest followers. Everybody in my year clamours to be in my group and stares at me in awe when I present in class.

I have been the queen of Deepdean Primary School since Year 4 and everybody is spellbound.

However, the new girl is not. She does not look English like I do, and does not sound English like anybody I know from all regions of the country. Instead, she has oddly darkened skin, strangely-shaped eyes with a deep and dark colour, and her hair is stubbornly straight and sways around her shoulders, cut in a straight fringe across her forehead. She is far too bookish, dangerously so for somebody with such a funny accent. Boys and girls alike will kick the books out of her hands and try to squash them into the mud but will not succeed. Despite how quiet she is, she will kick out rather harshly at whoever comes near her with the intent of throwing down her book.

“Do you want to go with me, new girl?” I asked her on her very first day.

“No, thank you,” she said, looking up from  _ I Am Malala _ . “I would rather go on my own.”

* * *

You can see why I do not know what to do about Hazel Wong. She is nothing like any of the other girls, in appearance or state of mind.

“Hazel Wong,” I say to her at break, walking over to where she sits on the swings, rocking herself slightly back and forth with her perfectly polished shoes. “You are strange.”

She gave me a look, then went back to her copy of a book called  _ Black Beauty _ .

“Hazel Wong,” I repeat, leaning over to her and bumping her shoulder. “Are you listening to me?”

“Why should I?” she says, looking over to me with her enormous and dark eyes. “Everybody else listens to you. What is one person who doesn’t?”

“Because you are interesting, Hazel,” I tell her.

“Don’t speak to me just because I am from Hong Kong.” Her accent is strange, leaping in all the places a voice should not, carrying strange letters and drawing out inflexions that English voices would never think to create. “I do not look interesting. To me,  _ you _ are strange, Miss Honourable Daisy Wells. To the rest of the world,  _ I _ am the normal one. I am the statistically average one.”

She honestly thinks that I like her because she is from  _ Hong Kong _ . How silly can she be? I didn’t even know that: how was I supposed to tell that, from her weird accent and her strange eyes “You’re from Hong Kong? I didn’t know that. There’s not a lot I don’t know. But…  _ no _ ! I like you because you are clever. You have good answers that, even though the other students laugh at you, are really quite good. You think like a detective.”

After a long look with her searching eyes, her dark hair hanging down around her face, she says, “I don’t want to be a detective.”

“Why not?”

“Because there are dead bodies when people get murdered,” she says, properly closing her book and curling her legs up to her to face me with her entire body. “And dead bodies do not nicely stitch up their injuries and kindly take their bloody clothes to the laundrette before presenting themselves to whoever is unlucky enough to find them.”

Hazel Wong is smarter than she looks. “Detectives do not only look at dead bodies. They find missing people, missing jewels… missing bodies.”

Shrieking a little, she kicks her feet and shakes her head. “I will be a detective,” she says. “But only if I get to do the writing!”

“You drive a hard bargain.” I spit into my hand and hold it out, but she makes a disgusted face.

“No! That is for non-serious school children making silly pacts. We need a handshake.” She holds out both hands. “How should we start?”

“You also have good ideas,” I tell her, holding out my hands. I  _ like _ Hazel a lot now. She’s sweet and confident, and an enormous personality.

She flaps her hands in excitement. “Oh!” She reaches into her bookbag. “Even though I was pretending to not want to talk to you, I do like you very much. You’re very good at being English.” I suppose that’s meant to be a compliment. “I made this for you.”

In her hands is a slightly squished chain of daisies, as a circle to make a crown.

“Oh.”

“They’re daisies.”

“I know.”

She sets it on my head and, even though it is very silly and little-girlish, I do not take it off. I suppose it is different when it is my… when it is my detective writing assistant. “Thank you,” I tell her.

She smiles, and I think I should like to see that smile forever.

“Daisies for Daisy Wells. Perhaps it should be our logo.”

“With a magnifying glass over it and we have an agreement.”

“Deal.”


End file.
